Unscripted
by hpaddictedg
Summary: I: Cruciatus. -I: Arachnid Waltz. II: Imperious. III: Avada Kedavra. Take a look at the darker side of the wizarding world. Complete.
1. Cruciatus

**A/N: **This is going to be a three-chaptered story, each chapter focusing on one of the Unforgivable Curses. No slash is implied in this one; it's just written strangely. Promise.

**Unscripted, I**

_Cruciatus_

Odd things went on in the Malfoy household between the father and the boy. The scene was the basement; the props were the wands and one screaming young Muggle.

"Like this?" Master Draco asked Father, knowing perfectly well that what he was doing was correct.

"Exactly," Father replied, pocketing his own wand. The Muggle girl looked at Master Draco, fear and sadness mingled in her imperfect eyes, and Master Draco looked back with something akin to anger written all over his pale face. Father approved.

"And I just say it, then?" Master Draco verified, viciously stalling.

"You just say it," Father nodded, stepping away.

"Crucio," Master Draco said then, so casually it was absurd. The girl's eyes rolled back before they snapped shut, and she started twitching. The chair she was bound to topped, and she lay there on the floor, twitching, surrounded by darkness. This was the part in which the audience would traditionally be gasping, perhaps even fainting, but not a sound was heard aside from the 'clunk' of the girl's patent-leather shoes as they hit the floor over and over. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. One Silencing Spell later, it was as though the girl wasn't even there.

The bored determination in Master Draco's eyes never wavered, and his wand-hand was unfailingly steady 'till the end. The curtain closed with something akin to ennui devouring Master Draco's largely unimpressive features. Father noticed, and he agreed.


	2. Arachnid Waltz

**A/N: **So. **Arachnid Waltz. **Fancy way of sayin' "spider dance", really. Yesssss. This is a "hiatus" in the story, like they have in plays. Spiders **do **have relevance to everything, by the way. Read book four. …This was written at around eleven at night, for your information, and was supposed to sound philosophical but came out sounding freaky. Read it backwards…or read it forwards and _then _read it backwards. It makes more sense if you start at the end. (This was not intended when I was writing it. Bizarre, no?)

**Unscripted, -I**

_Arachnid Waltz_

_(One, two, three.)_ There are millions of spiders weaving webs in Ron's dream, watching him try fruitlessly to open his eyes and crawling over his hands and ripping him apart. _(One, two, three.)_ He can't open his eyes because they are no longer there; the spiders are crawling about in the crevices and weaving their intricate webs to trap hapless flies. How ironic, considering that he, himself, is dead.

* * *

Red hair the color of dried blood is swarming with arachnids. They've already devoured his sister and now they're coming for him. They'll kill him quickly, he hopes. _(One, two, three.)_ They'll bleed him dry quickly and eat his insides quickly and scuttle away, tiny eyes shining with malice, quickly._ (One, two, three.)_

_He hopes that he isn't hoping for too much._

* * *

Ronald Weasley watches in horror as a thousand black widow spiders _(one, two, three)_ dance before his eyes. He says nothing _(stopitstopitdon'tkillmenoanythingbutthat**stopit**) _and succumbs.


	3. Imperious

**A/N: **Stream-of-consciousness. Yep.

**Unscripted, II**

_Imperious_

_And_, Ginny, darling, trust me.

But I'm _afraid_, Tom.

Don't be, love. Just listen to me and you'll be my _queen_.

Promise?

Promise.

Midnight walks – watch out for the teachers; don't step on Mrs. Norris's tail (We don't want to be found _out_). Just be careful, and don't touch your face with those fingers – we don't want to get blood all over ourselves, now do we?

No, we don't.

That's right, Ginevra.

And now we'll write it on the wall: "Enemies of the heir, beware". But _we're _not enemies, are we, pet?

No; no, we're not.

That's right. Just cooperate, and everything will be fine.

_But_, I'm afraid for Harry, Tom.

Still _love_ him, do you?

Of course not! Just-

Just what, Ginevra?

Just nothing, Tom.

And we'll carve it into our souls – G&T, **forever**. Even if she doesn't want it. And there's curses _(imperioimperio**imperio!**) _and hate and love and life and death and voices and –


	4. Avada Kedavra

**A/N:** Thanks to The Grapes of Wrath for the _very_ last line.

**Unscripted, III**

_Avada Kedavra_

Harry's parents are so, so beautiful – but so, so inaccessible. Dig up the graves, and there's the bodies – but the souls aren't there, you know. And glass is real; glass doesn't lie. Harry, he knows this. He knows that he'll never forget _(erised**desire**comebackineedyouiwantyoucome**back**), _and the blood's boiling in his veins, 'cause he wants to **soso badly**.

And James and Lily, they taunt him. Or what's left of them do, anyway. Because those aren't souls, after all – they're _shadows_. Not real, Harry. _Not real._

He wonders if, he were to cast _Avada Kedavra _on the mirror, it would kill the memories.

_(and there's the end)_


End file.
